Heading Home
by Marjatta
Summary: This story is written by both Marjatta and Primarycolors based on an idea by Marjatta. Set after the season 2 finale, the action takes place only two days after leaving the port of Acre. Characters are mainly Robin and Much with what’s left of the gang.


Title: **Heading Home** (one-shot)  
Authors: Marjatta and Primarycolors  
Rating: PG  
Genre: Angst  
Characters: Mainly Robin and Much with what's left of the gang  
Synopsis: Set after the season 2 finale, the action takes place only two days after leaving the port of Acre.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Robin Hood or any of the BBC characters.

**Heading Home**

Much stared across the rolling waves and scratched his head absently. Sand, always sand. The last time he had sand in his hair like this he had the green world in front of him, Bonchurch, and the promise of a comfortable life. There was no Vaysey, no Gisborne, no wooden tag around his neck. He studied Robin for what felt like the hundredth time that day. What had his master hoped for? Much never admitted it in so many words back then, but he had known—Robin had hoped to settle down and live out many quiet years with her.

The small cargo vessel rocked in the waves as they headed toward the Italian port where their land journey would begin. Always the soldier, Much knew without looking where his companions were. Even though Robin was always his first priority, Much felt the gaping rent in his family of outlaws. Part of their gang had been left behind in that alien desert world. The four of them—Allan, John, Robin and himself—were all that were left to see England again. Some chose to stay. And one other didn't have a choice.

Much maneuvered his way carefully through the crowded ship, as cargo and other passengers, remnants of crusade and pilgrimage, were everywhere. He found Robin sitting on the deck, knees pulled up to his chest and head down, unmoving. Much had tried to get him to talk earlier, but Robin had neither moved nor answered.

On the other side of the vessel, Allen fidgeted, pacing back and forth. "Does this water always have to be so choppy,." He complained to no one in particular. He looked gray as he abruptly sat down on the deck, and rested his head on his forearms.

John moaned, sitting on a barrel strategically placed so that he could quickly lean over the side but gave no further answer.

"Well, I don't suppose anyone is ready for supper yet, then," Much said, addressing them with hands on hips. "I'll just leave you two to fend for yourselves later, shall I?" He did not get an answer as he peered into their faces, so he walked away.

He sighed. Nothing can be so boring as being at sea. There's nothing to look at and nothing to do, unless a storm comes up, and then you have to fight for your life. But in between sheer boredom and utter panic, there is basically nothing to do except talk to someone. Much knew the ailment that gripped John and Allan would wane with time, but he was not so sure about Robin.

Lowering himself to the deck next to his master, Much tried yet one more time, for what he was no longer sure. "You know, you are getting me worried." Encouraged by silence, Much broke into his monologue. "Yes, of course, you are grieving, and we are grieving, too, in our smaller ways. No, I don't know how you feel. I do know that it is bad. But you have a job to prepare for. You are to be the King's representative…."

Much paused, not knowing what he should say about Robin's future and looking intently at the man beside him. Nothing seemed to move, no acknowledgement. Then he noticed Robin's hands clenched into fists.

"OK, sorry, too soon to talk about that." He hesitated. "You know it's supper time. I could get you a bit of bread and dried meat. How about some wine mixed with your water?" Much stopped and swallowed. It sounded loud in the wake of Robin's silence even though the bustle of the ship was all around them. He considered putting a hand on Robin's shoulder but then thought better of it. Still, getting pushed or punched would be something better than nothing.

Much's thoughts began to wander. He reminisced about their conversation atop Locksley Hill just before Marian's unfinished wedding to Guy. Much had hated that moment and the memories of Robin's insults, but he had to admit now that at least, then, Marian was alive. There was always something that might be done, if she were still alive. Much never wanted to relive hearing such insults out of his master's mouth again, but it might be a necessary risk now. He had to crack Robin out of his shell. It couldn't be healthy to stay locked inside one's own head so long. Much smiled to himself—especially a head like Robin's. And it certainly wasn't healthy to resist eating and drinking.

He steeled up his nerve and spoke softly into Robin's ear, "Come on, Master, we've been at sea two days, and you haven't eaten a thing yet. I haven't even seen you take a drink." He paused, but Robin didn't move. Time for the real weapons. "I know you want her back, but it's not going to happen." Much took a deep breath and picked at some errant threads in his trousers. "We would all like to see her back, but she really did die. Just like hundreds of other people we've seen die." Much chewed his lip. "If you don't lift your head up and have some supper, you may as well join her before we reach port." Much dropped his head and stared at the deck. He hadn't felt this helpless since Robin had been injured protecting the king.

"No, that won't work. I'd be lost someplace far from heaven." Much jumped at the unexpected raspy sound of Robin's voice.

"Master.…"

"It's Robin."

"Robin. Will you talk to me?"

"Why?" came the barely heard reply.

"Because," Much's response suddenly came in a rapid fire of words. "Because I'm lonely out here. And I'm so exhausted. Allan and John are too sick to talk. I'm worried about you. I want to be back in England. I wish there were something not stale or rotten to eat. I am so tired of this bright sun. I … I'm ...," Much stammered. Now that he had Robin's attention he desperately wanted to say the right thing. Except he didn't know what was right anymore. "I miss Marian," he finally said.

Robin hung his head again, and Much grabbed his arm with both hands. "No! Sorry I said that. I won't mention it again."

Robin's muffled voice filtered upwards. "We can't go through life 'not mentioning' Marian's name. We can't go through life never talking about her. I can't. It seems like my whole life has been about her." He lifted his head a little and sat staring at his hands. "I just don't know where or how to begin."

Much frowned, eyes distant as he thought. "That is a tough one, I agree, but you promised her didn't you? You promised to keep fighting."

In a small voice, Robin answered, "We were to save the king and bring him to England. We were to bring justice back and stop the suffering." He looked up into the bright sky, "but Marian, how can I do that alone?"

"You are not alone!" Much shifted onto his knees in front of him. "I will help. So will Allan and John. And I'm sure Marian will help, too. She'll make it easier for you."

Robin's face twitched as his eyes started to glisten. "I wish I could see that happening. I wish I could see and hear her telling me what to do now. I …" and then he folded forward as if he wanted to disappear inside himself. Much scrambled to drag his shoulders back up.

"Master! No use crawling into a hole," he cried. "Marian would want someone to hold you when you are hurting, but she won't want you hiding yourself away from those who love you."

Robin was shaking now, breathing raggedly, his jaw clenched. He had been holding it all inside for two days, but the walls were crumbling now. "We never even had a chance to BE together," he whispered. As he began to collapse again, Much pulled him close. The noise of the sea nearly drowned out the quiet choking sounds coming from his master's chest. One of Robin's hands found Much's forearm and gripped convulsively. Much let out the breath he'd been holding. He was grateful that Robin finally found a way to get his grief to the surface. He had held it all in so tightly that the absence of emotion had become frightening to the old friend who knew him all too well. A sudden sense of relief surged through Much as he acknowledged his own long overdue hot tears. He closed his eyes as he imagined Robin's soul adrift at sea without her. Much would guide him back to land. He would not let go. Not now, not when his master needed him the most.

They sat there together until the sun was dying on the horizon. Much dozed off several times. He wasn't sure if Robin slept, but Robin had twisted sideways until he seemed almost relaxed within Much's embrace. He might have slept. Now, however, Much was waking fully and realized he was terribly stiff. Wondering if Robin might be awake, he carefully stroked the fingers of one hand through the tangled locks of the grieving man's hair. Robin didn't stir, so Much stiffly yet carefully shifted until he could lay him down on the deck. Grabbing a rolled-up piece of canvas, he set it as a pillow, and cautiously let go of his friend. Seeing no reaction, Much stood and stretched, immediately realizing that he was hungry. Allan and John were nowhere to be found. The boat was not that big though; they would turn up. Grimacing to himself, Much genuinely wished they had found a bigger vessel. The bigger ones didn't roll as much. He may not be as sick as the others, but the movement got very tiresome, all the same. He wanted to stand on land, but it would be some days yet before that could happen and many more weeks before he walked on English soil.

Searching out their personal provisions, Much prepared two wooden bowls with portions of bread and dried meat in each. He smiled as he added several figs—a gift from Djaq. Walking around the other side of the vessel, the whereabouts of John and Allan were discovered. The two were seated side-by-side with their eyes closed. Much nudged John and offered one of the plates for the both of them. John seemed to pale, but Allan reached for the plate readily enough, declaring, "My stomach is so empty, it hurts."

"For what it's worth, the seas look a little calmer this evening than before."

"That's good news. Thanks, mate. I'll try a little something. Come on, John, eat your food, or I'm feeding it to the birds."

Much hurried back to Robin who was now sitting up and staring at the sunset. He glanced at Much settling back down beside him and looked warily at the food.

"I don't understand how time keeps passing," Robin managed with a steady voice. "Inside me, nothing changes, yet the sun is setting, again."

"I think the days will seem strange to all of us for a long time yet." Much put the remaining bowl of food on the deck in front of them. "Try to eat something."

Robin's mouth quirked wryly, as if he almost got the joke. How many times had they had this same pointless conversation? "I'm not hungry," he said, as he shifted, trying to stretch a kink out of his neck.

Much put on his best mother hen look and tried, "Well! I didn't ask if you were hungry. I'm saying it's time you ate something."

Robin didn't answer, instead, he studied his hands. In them, Much suddenly realized, he was holding the ring from King Richard that had sealed the marriage to Marian. It disappeared from sight as Robin closed his fist tightly again. A brief, involuntary shudder ran through him as he glanced up at Much. "I don't think I could swallow, he said quietly."

In final desperation, Much scooted in front of Robin and searched his face. "Take small bites," he begged. "Marian wants you to keep eating." For a moment, Much was afraid he had gone too far again.

Robin sagged, but miraculously, he straightened again. "Yes, I'm sure she does," he said softly, and reached for some bread. Much handed him the wineskin silently. "It's just that, when my mind wanders, or I dream, I feel this pain in my gut like I've been stabbed through. I think there's a ghost of Gisborne's sword inside me, and I wonder when and how I will ever pull it out."


End file.
